


The Same but Different

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: The Firm (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey and Mitch are two sides of the same coin. It's just that Mitch doesn't realise it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same but Different

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



“This is a bad idea.”

Trust a lawyer to look on the bright side. Joey keeps his back turned on Mitch McDeere and studies the view from the window. A dusty sweep of road. Tall, dark cypress trees in a row. Beyond, hills undulate, brown and gold and spattered with green, sharp against the heat-frozen blue sky.

It’s the reverse of the scene in the painting that takes up most of the wall space behind his desk in Roma, the family’s high-end restaurant in DC. The same view, painted in a different season, is displayed on a canvas behind his desk in Chicago. A reminder, if ever he needed one, of his heritage.

Generations ago, the Moroltos had started out as farmers on this land. Now they own this grand old house and all its acreage, the vineyards and fruit trees and olives presses, the village halfway down the hill and the squat little church with its medieval frescos. He owns the lot, and this is the first time he’s been here, the first time he’s seen it for real, and he _feels_ it. What it’s like to be his father’s son. What it’s like to be the head of the family.

Mitch is still fretting. “Joey, this is ridiculous. I don’t see how this can work to anyone’s advantage!” His voice rises. He’s getting wound up.

“You lawyers are always so stressy. You need to take some time out. Enjoy yourself.” Joey turns from the window with a smile and spreads his hands. “You’re in Italy. Relax awhile.”

“Relax!” Mitch stalks around the room. His suit is crumpled after the long flight and car ride; his hair is dishevelled and stubble glints at his jaw as he moves through a shaft of sunlight. He smells of recycled air and stale sweat and a hint of fear. “How can I relax when my wife and daughter, my _family_ , are in DC with a handful of US Marshals to protect them against the Russian mob?”

“You forget my family, too,” Joey says. “Your family is part of my family now. And my family is much bigger and has a much longer reach.”

Mitch turns away and throws himself down onto an elegantly upholstered couch. “Forgive me if I don’t find that thought particularly comforting.”

“We are not here for comfort.” Now Joey’s smile is edged with anger. “We are here to strategise.”

“This is a really bad idea.” Mitch can’t sit still. Perhaps it’s nervous energy; perhaps not. He rubs a hand over his jaw, stubble rasping. A grimace down-tilts his mouth. Pushing back up onto his feet, he paces around the room, then snatches his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call home.”

“Maybe you should go outside.” Crossing the stone-flagged floor, Joey unlatches the patio doors and pushes one open. The thin voile curtains flutter, and warmth creeps into the room. “Better reception out there.”

Mitch gives him a look then stomps past, shoving at the curtain then striding halfway across the terrace. Joey watches him go, watches as Mitch stands tense and coiled on the limestone pavement, oblivious to the beauty of the landscape around him. A heat haze shimmers beyond the marble balustrade, dancing to the continual rattling call of cicadas. The smell of dust and citrus forms a sultry layer.

Joey steps back as soon as Mitch starts talking into the phone. The interior of the house is cool despite the steady heat outside. Going to another window, Joey looks out. The terrace runs around two sides of the building; this angle offers views of the hillside sloping away to the south. The house commands the land it stands upon. Whoever built it was conscious of both display and the need to protect its inhabitants. A smart move for then—and for now. Not that Joey thinks that’ll be necessary. Not at the moment.

Nevertheless, he’s brought one of his capos and a dozen of his best men, all armed, all aware of what’s at stake. With Johnny Dux dead and the Russian threat imminent, the Moroltos had pulled together, but Joey isn’t fool enough to think that the truce within the family will last. Especially when it looks like he’s run.

That had been Louis Coleman’s idea.

“I’m not sure what we can do, in all honesty,” Louis had said. They’d all been standing around the McDeere’s kitchen table, going through the evidence accumulated in Patrick’s defence. The surveillance photo of the Russian guy, Viktor, lay on top of the pile. “The US Marshals can hardly be seen to be protecting a mob boss.”

Joey had smiled at that. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Mitch had glanced up, blue eyes piercing. “True. But in this instance your whole family would need protecting, or at least the families of your family—their wives and children.”

“Luka threatened them.” Joey had shrugged, but he’d felt helpless and hated it. “Standard operating procedure in any line of business. Exploit the weakness. Makes a man wonder why he should bother marrying and raising a child when he knows they’ll just be used against him.”

“For love,” Mitch said, cutting a glance towards Abby. “To create a legacy.”

Joey nodded. He knew all about legacy. Even so...

“Tarrence made it clear that the FBI won’t help us,” Louis continued, stirring through the photocopies and pictures on the table. “According to Viktor, something big’s about to go down in the next couple of weeks. Luka’s been bringing in his best men from all over. But we don’t know what the deal is. Could be a hit, but why bring in so many guys when one man could do the job? One thing’s for sure—this isn’t about the Moroltos.” Louis looked at Joey. “No disrespect, but I think your guys are going to be collateral damage here.”

“I’m inclined to agree, to a certain extent.” Joey flicked his gaze over Louis and the McDeeres. “Patrick was framed for a reason. The Russians want my family out of DC. I’m trying to go legit and they don’t want that, either. They’re undercutting us on the streets and they’re trying to block our access to the markets. I know you think my family is scum, but we handle things our way and we make it clean. We have a code. These Russians, they don’t live by any rules. You call us a mob? We’re not. We’re a family. The Russians are a true mob. Feral. Violent. Out of control.”

“He’s right,” Ray said. “You gotta have rules. Otherwise it’s just anarchy.”

“And that’s bad,” Tammy drawled.

“I agree.” Abby had met Joey’s gaze across the table. “We’re all family here. Metaphorically we might be in-laws rather than blood, but we’re family, and we’re going to help you.”

“So what are we going to do?” Mitch ran his hands through his hair. “What’s our next move?”

Louis had given Joey an assessing look. “I think you should run.”

That’s why they’re here now.

Joey had told his men that he was heading to Italy to call in reinforcements for when they took the fight to the Russians. They’d nodded, said it was a wise decision, and he’d seen the judgement in their eyes give way to speculation. Like, was he running for real? Had the kid finally had enough and was ready to quit just as the going got tough? Or was there something else going on, something the boss wasn’t about to explain just yet?

They thought he was weak, no doubt about it. But he wasn’t.

There’s the sound of footsteps on the terrace, then the bang of the patio door closing with more force than necessary. Mitch’s disbelief and anger precedes him into the room by a good six feet.

“I just talked to Ray.” Mitch sounds shocked. “Patrick Walker is dead.”

Joey faces him. “I know.”

“He hanged himself with a piece of cord that was somehow smuggled into his cell.” The accusation pulses in the sudden silence. Mitch is looking at him with an almost pleading expression. “Tell me you didn’t do this. Tell me you didn’t put a hit on your best friend.”

“He’s not my best friend. He was my consigliore.”

A long, drawn-out exhalation shudders from Mitch. He quivers, obviously struggling to control his temper. “A position that seems fraught with danger. First Antonio, now Patrick—who’s next?”

Joey shrugs. “What if I made you my consigliore?”

The shock is palpable across the room. Mitch’s eyes widen; panic flares in his expression. “You can’t be serious.”

“I wasn’t.” Joey shoulders himself away from the window and goes over to an antique sideboard. He opens it, takes out a decanter of brandy and two cut-glass tumblers. “But perhaps I should consider it.”

“You can’t trust me,” Mitch argues, looking bewildered, “and I can’t trust you.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” A generous amount of brandy splashes into both glasses. Joey offers one to Mitch. “Like it or not, we have to trust one another until this situation is resolved.”

“You killed Patrick Walker!” Mitch dashes the glass from Joey’s hand. The tumbler shatters on the floor, the sound like a gunshot. Brandy spills everywhere, the rich stink of it staining the air.

A heartbeat later, one of Joey’s men bursts into the room, weapon drawn.

“It’s all right,” Joey says, calm, smiling, all urbane charm. “Mr McDeere was clumsy. That’s all.”

“Right, boss.” The man nods and retreats, closing the door gently behind him.

Leaving Mitch to stare at the shards of glass, Joey takes his own drink over to a wing-backed chair and sits down. He sips at the brandy, enjoying the silken taste of it on his tongue.

“He told me you’d do this.” Mitch turns, anger burning bright around him. “He expected it. What I don’t understand is why now? Why do it at all? We were so close! Even without Viktor’s confession, we had enough to introduce reasonable doubt. If you’d let me stay in DC, if you’d let me and Ray do our jobs, maybe we could’ve found another angle, another way to prove Patrick’s innocence. But instead you took care of it the only way you know how!”

Joey swirls the brandy in the glass.

Mitch is in front of him now, hands balled into fists. “You told me you had rules. You stood there in my house, at my kitchen table, and you said you weren’t like the Russians. Well, forgive me if I don’t believe it. You’re a killer. You have no heart, no compassion. You’re just like your father.”

Slowly, Joey puts down his brandy. Gaze fixed on Mitch, he says with quiet deliberation, “I am nothing like my father.”

The edge to his voice is clearly audible. Mitch responds to it, straightening out of his defensive posture and taking a deep breath before their gazes clash. “What?”

“Yes, I gave the order for Patrick to be killed,” Joey says, “but it wasn’t a decision I took lightly. It was a necessary sacrifice.”

“Necessary?”

Joey waves a hand for silence. “You think I go around killing people for fun? Of course not. Revenge is a necessary part of this business. An eye for an eye. It’s the way things are done. Clean and simple. Easy to understand.”

“But we could have _won_ ,” Mitch protests.

“No.” Narrowing his eyes, Joey stares at Mitch. “Do you really believe that the Russians, having put so much time and effort into framing Patrick, would just leave it at that? Do you honestly think they wouldn’t get to the jury? You thought it was me who had the twelfth juror taken out of play. It wasn’t. It was them. And who’s to say the alternate juror is the only one of their pawns? There could be others. Hell, the entire jury could’ve been bought, for all we know!”

Mitch shakes his head, weariness bowing his shoulders. “You have to trust the system.”

“Like you do?” Joey smiles to take the sting out of it.

“I’m not saying it’s perfect...”

“No system ever is. That’s why alternatives are necessary for when it falls short.” He picks up his drink again, then takes pity on Mitch’s confusion. Leaning forward, Joey says, “Patrick’s death has bought us some time. Coleman was right. I’m a person of interest to the Russians, but I’m not their main concern. Whatever Luka is planning, I’m not his target. If I hadn’t come to you, Patrick would have been convicted and locked up for life—”

“At least he’d still be alive!” Mitch bursts out.

“Don’t be so naive, counsellor.” A chill settles in Joey’s voice. “If I’d let Patrick take the fall, the Russians would have continued to muscle in on my territory. They’d have done it slowly, especially with this other thing about to go down. But I wasn’t going to do that, and so yeah, Patrick is dead, but now everything else is out in the open. There’s going to be a war, Mitch, and you’re caught right in the middle of it. We forced their hand. We did that together—and now we have to face the consequences.”

He pauses to make sure Mitch understands the levity of the situation— _of course he does, he’s been through this before_ —then continues, “Patrick’s death removed the thorn from their side. The distraction is over. Now the Russians will throw all their focus into whatever the hell they’re planning. And maybe Viktor will let the FBI in on the secret, or maybe he won’t. Either way, they won’t be looking in our direction anymore—not the Feds, and not the Russians. We’re the loose end that’ll be tied up later—and that’s how we’ll get them.”

Mitch exhales. “Convince everyone that the Moroltos are in disarray and then use the time to regroup. Yeah, I see that. But...” He hesitates, looking at Joey with honest bewilderment. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you’re like me.” Joey gets up and walks towards him. “Because you have to be away from your family before you can make any decisions that will impact on them. Because when you’re near them, you remember all that shit about love and legacy and you want to do the right thing, and sometimes that isn’t enough. It’s not enough to save them, and so you have to make decisions, hard decisions, sacrifices, and you have to have a clear head when you do it.”

He holds Mitch’s gaze. “That’s why you’re here. Because we’re the same but different. Because we don’t trust the system. Because we need to discover the truth and we need to do it our way.”

Mitch stares at him, expression carved from stone, but there’s heat in his eyes. Acknowledgement.

Joey stops in front of him and holds out his hand. “You and I, we can do this. I know we can. Are you with me?”

There’s a long pause, and then Mitch takes Joey’s hand in a grip both warm and punishing.

“You know I am,” Mitch says, determination flashing in his eyes. “Let’s do this.”


End file.
